In D.W. Griffith's 1915 film "The Birth of a Nation," a white woman chooses to jump from a cliff rather than be raped by a black man, and the Ku Klux Klan is the heroic cavalry that pays that man back by lynching him.

In Mel Brooks' 1974 film "Blazing Saddles," a black man plays the hero, and in one of the more hilarious scenes he baits two Klansmen by yelling, "Hey, where're the white women at?!" When the two white supremacists try to go all "Birth of a Nation" on him, they get punched out and derobed.

Brooks couldn't have made his film in 1915 because the Klan back then inspired no comedy. Griffith couldn't have made his film in 1974 because nobody with good sense, or a sense of decency, would have associated the group with nobility or valor. Klansmen were reaching a point where they were much more likely to be laughed at as losers than feared as effective domestic terrorists.

I was among a group of black students criticized by its elders for not going out to protest a Klan rally held in suburban St. Louis in 1994. Their criticism revealed that my generation saw the Klan with a different set of eyes. Our elders associated the Klan with unchecked violence and had grown up afraid of being lynched by the group. My generation associated the Klan with backwardness and foolishness, was less afraid of violence and more afraid of providing its members with attention they craved.

As it turns out, approximately 300 people showed up at that rally in Clayton, Mo., but only 14 of them were Klansmen. The remaining 95 percent of the crowd was there to surround and yell insults at the white supremacists. If those well-meaning opponents hadn't shown up to shake their fists, would anybody have even noticed the rally? We felt vindicated.

We weren't. The Ku Klux Klan, even on its decline from white supremacy's clandestine enforcers to modern-day laughing stock, has never been completely defanged. Sunday's murder of a female Klan initiate in rural St. Tammany Parish is a reminder of the group's violent philosophy.

St. Tammany Parish Sheriff Jack Strain says 43-year-old Cynthia Lynch of Tulsa, Okla., tried to leave an initiation ceremony held by the Bogalusa-based Sons of Dixie Knights of the Ku Klux Klan. When she she tried to leave, Strain said, she was killed by Raymond Foster, the group's imperial wizard.

Foster was booked with second-degree murder. Seven others, including his son, were booked with obstruction of justice for what officials describe as a bungling attempt to cover up Lynch's murder. Raymond Foster tried to dig the .40 caliber bullet out of Lynch's body with a knife, authorities said. His son Shane Foster and Frank Stafford went to a Circle K in Bogalusa and asked a clerk how to get blood out of their clothing.

The clerk recognized them and called authorities, who tracked them down quickly and arrested them. Soon, all eight suspects were in custody.

Apparently referring to the group's inability to cover up the murder, Strain said, "I can't imagine anyone feeling endangered or at risk from these kooks. This Sheriff's Office will not allow it. We're not going to tolerate it in St. Tammany."

It appears that Lynch had good reason to feel endangered. If the story being told by the Sheriff's Office is true, her body is a testament to the Sons of Dixie's willingness to resort to violence. Apparently, nobody in the group could think quickly enough to cover up the crime, but such slow thinking, in and of itself, doesn't mean the group wasn't dangerous.

Previous generations of Klansmen could be sloppy with impunity -- because they weren't in danger of being prosecuted. The Sons of Dixie aren't less dangerous than their predecessors because they're dumber. If they're less dangerous it's because today's officials will go after them.

It remains the case that today's Klan inspires more mockery than anything else. But Sunday night's murder shows that the group we mock is still armed.

Jarvis DeBerry is an editorial writer. He can be reached at 504.826.3355 or at jdeberry@timespicayune.com.